The Beast of Sigil 08 (1)

What is the most powerful land creature on the Saintopia 02 ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠continent?

The learned scholars of the Cult answer with one voice: the King of the Swamplands, the Gel Arma — known in the humans' tongue as the Swamp King.

Its list of traits reads like a catalog of everything the Cult finds troublesome: innate resistance to psychic power, agility that belies its massive bulk, a hardened carapace, high intelligence, and even the ability to neutralize protective equipment.

Worse still, the swamplands the Swamp King calls home are the most dangerous place on the continent. Anyone who dared set foot there would have to fight that powerful monster while fending off toxic vapors capable of eating through a hazard suit.

Any visitor in their right mind would never dream of touching the swamplands.

Fortunately, the Swamp King was a creature of fierce territorial instinct. Whatever happened outside its domain simply didn't concern it.

And yet.

Right now, a mysterious visitor was shattering that common wisdom to pieces.

Deep in the inner reaches of the swamplands, the sleeping Swamp King stirred awake at a certain sound.

There was something strangely familiar about the melody — a sound not unlike that of a delicious prey it had luckily devoured in its youth.

Raising its four lantern-like eyes, it scanned its surroundings.

"■■ me. Someone ■ ■■■...."

When the sound came again, it was certain.

Delicious prey was wandering through its territory.

Ordinarily, it would have hidden in the mire and ambushed whatever approached — but not this time.

Being an intelligent creature, the Swamp King remembered something important: those prey never traveled alone. This time, too, they were sure to be moving in a crowd.

Better get there first and eat them all before some rival snatched them away. It heaved its massive, waterlogged body up out of the swamp.

Its two front pincers clattered as it moved, following the cries of its prey. All ten of its long legs churned obediently through the mud at its master's bidding.

"Is anyone there!"

This time the sound was louder than before. All four eyes snapped toward its source.

"Please.... I don't want to live like this anymore!"

The prey was in a place littered with rotten dead trees — a spot where the swamp's water ran shallow. Too shallow for a body as heavy as the Swamp King's; it rarely ventured there.

｢GEEEAAAH｣

It hesitated for a moment, weighing whether the prey was truly worth braving such danger.

The prey it remembered — the creatures with four limbs — had soft flesh and rich nutrition. And they traveled in packs.

A golden opportunity to fill its belly. The ten legs began moving again.

Each stride of those ten-meter-long legs pulverized a dead tree.

Then, as it dragged its ponderous bulk forward, an open stretch of swamp spread out before it.

"Somebody just kill me already!"

There stood the source of the wailing.

But its form was quite different from what the Swamp King remembered.

Normally, the prey's head sat atop a torso with four limbs. The thing before it now had no torso at all. A head, mounted on what looked like a violet-black dead tree.

｢GEEE?｣

No — it had mistaken it for a dead tree. Which made sense, because dead trees don't move. Atop the half-buried trunk, half-sunk in the swamp's mud, it could see sharp teeth and two blindingly white eyes.

And beside that tree, it spotted several familiar objects.

"EEK! You're back! I said you're back!"

They were Swamp King corpses. Three of its own kind — heads caved in, guts torn open — lay heaped beside the trunk.

Only then did it understand: it had walked into a trap.

And the tree-like thing opened its mouth.

"That's·the·fourth·one."

It couldn't grasp the meaning, but one thing was certain.

It was not a sound that boded anything good for it.

So that makes four.

Despite its sluggish appearance, the Swamp King was an extremely intelligent animal. By design, once one of them memorized a prey's scent, movement, or sound, it never forgot. Which meant it would surely remember devouring the Cultists who had come to this planet — and that their taste was exquisite.

I decided to exploit that high intelligence for an experiment, using the Human-Faced Beast trait I'd acquired two days ago.

And the experiment was a success.

"You came! I did everything you said, so now just kill me!"

The face on my back was wailing its heart out.

That face was nearly identical to the MCAE pilot I had devoured last at the research base — apart from being a bit paler and more gaunt.

The parasitic creatures native to the original Pale Mask and the Human-Faced Beast trait as it manifests in an Amorph are completely different powers. The one growing on my body can use neither hypnotic waves nor shockwaves.

In exchange, it has two abilities.

The first: as demonstrated just now, it partially copies the habits and memories of the higher intelligences I consume — humans, Cultists, beings of that sort.

Even when no Predation Effect triggers, the target's Genetic Essence is stored inside my body. I use that essence to build the faces.

Like the Mimic Organ, it can only produce faces from the most recently consumed target — but there's a key difference. The Mimic Organ is an ability that recreates the target's state at the moment of death through pheromones, whereas the Human-Faced Beast copies the memories themselves encoded in the target's genes.

Simply put, think of it as a quasi-clone consisting of nothing but a head. That's why the face on my back carries a sense of self and can chatter away on its own.

Naturally, the control authority rests with me. If I need it to be quiet, it goes quiet, any time I wish.

Combined with the Parasitic Colony, this would be quite handy for espionage work.

The Human-Faced Beast is a tool I can put to real use whenever I need information. Some of the memories are lost in the process of acquiring the genes, but recent memories are generally preserved.

Thanks to this trait, I was able to finish preparing the research base — that is, the spaceship — for departure before returning to the continent. Once the cooldown ends, we can lift off whenever we please.

The second ability is the Human-Faced Beast's own combat power.

A sonic attack that paralyzes enemies.

The Pale Mask's hypnotic wave seals portions of an enemy's techniques. My version of the Human-Faced Beast, by contrast, has a far more direct effect.

It briefly paralyzes the target through sound. The paralysis lasts anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes — five minutes at the absolute most.

That might sound short. It isn't.

In a fight, pinning your enemy in place for several minutes is a decisive weapon. It resembles the psychic technique known as Binding, but the paralysis wave ignores the target's psychic resistance entirely. Used well, it's devastatingly effective.

Though it won't work on anything without ears.

No such enemies exist here.

And the crab-like monster in front of me — the Swamp King — has exceptionally sharp hearing.

｢GEEEAA?｣

Its four eyes darted about in confusion. Understandable. The thing floating on the surface was far smaller than itself, but three of its own kind lay dead beside it.

It's probably torn between fighting and fleeing.

Unlike the beast, I wasn't worried at all. The last three made the same choice, and this one would too.

｢GEEEAAAH｣

What it chose was the middle option between attack and retreat: summoning Corpse Catfish to strike first.

White eel-like creatures burst from beneath its dorsal carapace and dropped into the swamp.

Clever.

The previous three had either charged straight in or turned tail and fled. This one seemed to be the brightest of the lot.

And the Corpse Catfish a Swamp King spawns ignore defense.

My carapace was far harder now that I'd reached the Young Adult stage, but before the catfish's digestive secretions, that meant nothing.

I extended my Erosion Tentacles from the ridge of my back, which broke the surface of the water. Each time the long tentacles lashed the surface, catfish were shredded into strips of meat.

｢GEEEAAAH｣

In the meantime, it closed in fast.

The two pincers at the front of its body clacked together, producing a threatening rattle. It clearly intended to tear my head off with them.

But things would not go its way.

About time.

It entered my range. I launched the attack I had prepared.

"I hate this... GEEEAAAH."

The Human-Faced Beast's mouth split wide open with an grotesque shriek. From deep within its throat, a second, spiral-shaped mouth emerged.

From that hideous second mouth, a formless soundwave blasted outward.

｢GEEE?!｣

The Swamp King froze mid-charge, pincers still spread wide, locked in place. With it paralyzed, I pressed on with my second attack.

My lower body and tail, buried beneath the swamp, flexed hard. My hidden bulk erupted upward, blasting the ground beneath the Swamp King's feet to splinters.

｢GEEEAA?｣

The Swamp King — nearly as heavy as a Pale Mask by raw weight — struck my tail and hung for an instant in the air. It barely caught itself with its hind legs, keeping its body from flipping over entirely.

But its stance was already ruined beyond saving. I whipped my tail and lower body around it in a flash.

The Swamp King's bulk was considerable, but nothing compared to mine. Even without invoking the Avatar of the Hunt, my body exceeded twenty meters with room to spare.

I coiled my tail once around its dorsal shell, used the muscles of my midsection to haul my upper body up over it, then seized all ten of its legs with my Erosion Tentacles and combat arms.

｢GEEEAAAH!｣

The carapace covering a Swamp King's legs is extremely tough. Even at the Young Adult stage, cracking it would be no simple matter — I'd probably need the Avatar of the Hunt's physical amplification to shatter it easily.

Of course, there are plenty of ways to neutralize legs besides destroying their armor. Like this one.

The tentacles and arms clamped down hard, pinning every leg in place. Then I began to tighten my tail around its dorsal shell.

｢GEEEAAAH｣

The dorsal shell is the weakest part of a Swamp King's armor. Realizing its life hung by a thread, the beast shrieked and hammered my back and tail with its pincers.

Useless.

Before my evolution, an attack like this would have left me seriously wounded.

But I am a Young Adult now. This couldn't deal me meaningful damage.

Not that it didn't hurt.

Painful, but bearable. I ignored the beast's thrashing and squeezed harder with my tail.

｢G-GEEEAH! G-GEE-KRIK｣

Its dorsal shell shattered with a sickening crack. The panicked Swamp King screamed. It had never dreamed it would be crushed to death by something bigger than itself.

It flailed its pincers in desperate resistance, but it was nowhere near enough to hold back the tightening jaws of death.

A few minutes later, it died with its dorsal shell crushed to paste and its entrails spilling out. A pathetic end for a beast called the King of the Swamplands.

Confirming the last breath had left its body, I released my coils.

Let this one be the drop.

That made my fourth Swamp King hunt.

I had come here alone to obtain materials for a nest-related fusion trait.

The others were back at the nest I'd prepared in the forest.

The reason I hunted alone was simple: No. 26 was the only one among us who could withstand the swamplands' toxins. Adhai and Mother of the Sky had poison resistance too, but nothing near the level needed to cross the swamp.

No. 26 could swim through the mire just fine, but she had a poor matchup against the Swamp King. To pierce its psychic resistance, she'd need to be far stronger than she is now.

So there was no one in the party who could reasonably come along. Which meant hunting solo.

Come ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on. This time, please.

I'd already set aside a portion for each of the family. If the Predation Effect triggered this time — and if it gave me the trait I actually needed — today's hunt would be over.

I peeled open the Swamp King's dorsal shell and buried my head inside.

Tastes great, but...

Chewing meat with the flavor of king crab was certainly a pleasure, but this was the fourth time eating the exact same dish. Even the finest cuisine grows tiresome when it's the only thing on the menu three meals a day.

I forced my way through the meal. As if in reward, a textbox rose before me.

Aw.

Pincer is a very useful combat trait, but it wasn't the result I'd hoped for. Sighing inwardly, I applied the trait anyway.

As the Pincer trait took effect, the two arms at the very bottom of my upper torso changed shape — becoming small but thick, hard pincers like the Swamp King's own.

These pincers inherited the Swamp King's psychic resistance outright. That meant they stacked with my Psychic Reflection Carapace trait.

They were almost certainly now the most psychically resistant part of my entire body.

Anti-psychic pincers, huh.

Smacking my lips, I clicked my new pincers together. Getting a drop on the fourth kill was good news — but only half a success.

Unlike in the game, Swamp Kings here don't spawn infinitely.

How many more could there be?

Two at most. If the remaining ones didn't drop the trait either, I'd have to consider targeting entirely different creatures for the fusion trait.

The goal was to find a nest-related fusion trait usable as a material for Transcendence Stage 2. It didn't have to be an exceptional one.

Having revised my plan, I pressed deeper into the swamplands — dragging the Swamp King corpses I'd secured so far behind me with my Erosion Tentacles.

And exactly fourteen hours later.

I finally, barely managed to obtain a nest-related fusion trait.

The Judge of Damos 08 — a planetary purification weapon of the Cult, and one of its mass-produced motherships.

Its decks, which should have lain in silence as deep as the vacuum of space, now bustled with scurrying crewmen, filled to bursting with frantic activity.

"Departure in two days — all hands, make ready!"

"What's the status of the psychic engine calibration?"

"Calibration complete, sir. We'll run on schedule."

"The fighter pilots finished their simulations — see that they don't neglect their maintenance routines!"

"The fleet dispatched by the Council is requesting to join the purification operation, Captain!"

"Granted. Have their captains report to my office. There's something I wish to say to them."

"Understood!"

The captain gazed out over the frenetic command center with a satisfied expression.

Every crewman was absorbed in his own task, moving in controlled chaos — yet they all shared one thing in common. Their faces brimmed with vitality.

It had always grieved the captain to see such talented people buried in a backwater like this, wasting away their years. Knowing they had followed him here voluntarily — a war hero, no less — only deepened his guilt.

Tch. Once this purification is done, I ought to visit the homeworld.

He himself had come out here sick of the Council's scheming, but his subordinates were another matter. Letting the Empire's finest talent rot in a place like this was nothing short of a crime against the Empire itself.

I hear the Providence Faction's High Priest is rumored to be remarkably shrewd. Perhaps I should pay him a visit.

As the captain remembered it, the Providence Faction had long been nothing more than an aging fringe clique.

The hegemonism they championed sat poorly with the reality of an Empire competing against the rising powers of Mega Corp and Star Union. Far stronger was the Reform Faction, with its emphasis on exchange and enlightenment among intelligent civilizations.

Then everything changed when a priest of royal blood joined their ranks. In one stroke, he transformed the Providence Faction into the Empire's preeminent faction.

Judging by that alone, one might have written him off as just another Cult political animal — but astonishingly, the young priest proved to possess a brilliant military ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind as well. The reason he'd attained the rank of priest at so young an age was his magnificent defense against the Outspacer invasion.

The captain, who had commanded an Imperial Mothership for no short time himself, understood well just how capable the young man was.

Though there are rumors about his conduct with women.

Stories circulated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that he sexually abused his female slaves, but the captain refused to believe them. Success inevitably breeds its share of envious tongues.

...Still, better safe than sorry. Perhaps I'll look into acquiring a slave or two before the purification begins.

A few days earlier, the captain had investigated intelligence on Sigil 08. One of its continents was home to primitive Volf tribes.

If the rumors about the priest held any truth, female Volfs would make a fine gift.

They'll all die once the purification begins anyway.

If anything, slavery might be a mercy for them. The civilization they'd built would be annihilated — but surely living was better than dying.

I'll have to mention it to my aide.

Until the captains of the support fleet arrived to pay their respects, the captain passed the time deliberating over what gift to present the priest.